Once there was a little boy who watched the movie, "Jaws". The next summer, his Mommy and Daddy took him to the beach by the ocean. The little boy loved the beach. He collected rocks and seashells. He chased seagulls. Mommy said he could have one if he could catch one. When he got tired of chasing seagulls. He dug in the in the sand, and before you knew it, he was making incredible sand castles. He was very good at it! Others walking along would stop and stare. "Wow!" The boy was very happy.
Then, Daddy rented a small boat. You know? Those yellow ones that you blow up with air. Some people call them life rafts. It was big enough for all three of them. When Daddy put the boat on the shore Mom led the little boy to the boat.
The little boy took one look at the yellow blown up boat, and started to back up. Mom could feel him tugging her hand fiercely. She did not understand. By that time Daddy came and picked him up to carry him to the boat. The little boy screamed and kicked his feet so hard that Daddy had to put him down on the sand. The little boy ran as fast as he could as far away as he could to be away from the boat and the shore.
When Mommy caught up to him, he was sitting on their beach blanket under their beach umbrella. "Don't you want to go for a boat ride?"
"No!"
"Why not?"
"It's too scarey!"
"But, the water is very smooth and peaceful"
By this time Daddy had pulled the boat to where they were sitting. "What's the matter son?"
The little boy pointed out to sea and said in his biggest voice:
"Sharks!!!"
Years later when the little boy was a big boy he and his friends all went to a park with a big pond where everyone enjoyed swimming. The big boy had already learned to swim. He knew there were no sharks in a swimming pool. But, when his friends all began to go into the big pond, he began to feel the same way he did years ago. Even though he knew there probably weren't any sharks in the pond, and he was sure there
weren't any, he had to face his fears. If he told his friends they might laugh at him. So, he very carefully got into the pond and had a wonderful time with his friends, especially when he was peacefully floating and he could feel the little fish swimming around him.
Now, that's not the end of the story, yet.
Years later when the boy had become a man, another little boy watched the movie, "Jaws". This little boy liked the movie so much that he wanted to watch it again and again. Good thing his Mommy and Daddy could buy the DVD.
This little boy collected shark toys, and shark books and drew pictures of sharks. When his Mommy and Daddy took him to the beach he stood on the shore gazing out to sea.
"Are there any sharks out there?"
"No, but they will migrate in a few months. Then they will be out there."
"Then, can we to go out in a boat and see them?"
Tomorrow is the little boy's birthday and the first Mommy is his Grandmother. She made a blog for him with all shark pictures. You can see them here
I stopped by Gateways, the largest metaphysical bookshop in the country, says the sign outside the door. Really? I didn't know that. Another sign said Writing workshop tonight at seven.
Local author, Laura Davis, was presenting it. How could I possibly NOT attend? I was there on the spot. How could I turn around and go home? I had only dropped by the store to pick up an item for my son. I wont mention what it is here, because he might be reading and it is a surprise gift. So, both of us now have a gift. I have the writing class! I went into the back of the store where chairs had been arranged, and chose my seat. I was early. Laura was there in the front, waiting for her eager participants. We chatted a bit. Laura is well known in the Santa Cruz area. She has written seven books. I forgot to ask her if she has another one on the way.
It was a little rough on my body to sit there for an hour and a half scribbling in my notebook sprawled on my lap, having to change pens because they felt unfamiliar in my hand, and yes, one of them went dry! I am so used to the computer now, I don't even recognize my handwriting. I think I need to buy one of those books for second graders so I can form readable letters again. However, I did not let that deter me. Onward and upward and all that.
Laura uses some of the same techniques as the author of Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within by Natalie Goldberg. In this case Laura gave us some rules for writing. I like to think of them as guidelines, but really, if one wants to write there must be something solid to guide us, therefore, rules.
Since the class was focused on short practice writings the main thing is to keep the pen moving no matter what you write, no matter what comes up, if you don't know what to write, just write, "I don't know what to write" or whatever comes out of your pen. Don't judge it. Don't stop and think about what you are writing. Ignore the inner critic. Just write, don't cross out, don't worry about spelling or grammar, just keep the pen moving.
The one thing Laura said that I just loved was: "You are free to write the worst crap in America!" (For my readers in other parts of the world, substitute America for your country.)
If it were me, I also would have added, "Kill the inner critic!" It is our worst enemy. Since there is no way to kill the inner critic, all we can do is ignore it. And if it sits over your shoulder nagging, "This isn't right. This isn't good enough. Whatever made you think you could write?" It is very hard to ignore. But, as one practices writing, one can practice ignoring the inner critic at the same time. I think I have pretty much learned how to ignore I.C. as one might be able to determine by my writing style. Grammar, in particular. Style is lacking. Oops, there it is... no self judging! It is what it is.
The practice writing sessions lasted five minutes each and Laura gave us prompts, something to write about. For example: Write about a time when your life was in limbo. That was a hard one for me at first. I wanted to think about it. I wanted to go back over the years and figure it all out. It was so tempting.
With her standing there in front of us all, I could do nothing but put pen to paper and write... "My mind is blank. Limbo is blank." and suddenly it came to me. I recalled a specific time when my brain felt numb, and that was truly limbo for me. The words came tumbling one after another. Looking at it now, I can see the mistakes, and the lack on continuity, and the twisting of the facts, and yet, I will leave it alone as it is. After all, it was just a writing practice. Practice.. not the final exam.
All in all it was a wonderful evening. Challenging to sit there with my notebook askew on my lap, and painful for my body to hold that position, but well worth the pleasure of writing with others, both beginners and old pros. There were a couple of other authors present, which I thought was cool. But, I don't know their names. We were all there to practice with Laura Davis, the author.
She's teaching a more in depth workshop on Sunday morning. I have decided to attend. I hope I can sleep well the night before. I hope I will not be in pain. I hope I can sit in a chair for a long time with my notebook not sliding off my lap. And for God's sake, I hope I will have a pen that will magically make my handwriting legible.
The photo of the Buddha was taken by me, and the artwork representing Limbo I did with photoshop.
"Happiness. You deserve it. You have earned it. You get to have it and be present in this life, in this place, here and now."
This I found on the blog site of Dot Hearn called The Writing Vein. In her writing she suggested in focusing on writing about happiness.
I think happiness is a personal thing. You and I might not experience happiness from the same source. So, here is my viewpoint on what happiness is for me.
Happiness is remembering childhood experiences, writing about them and discovering nuances I had not previously recalled.
Happiness is reading old letters from family and friends that were sent to my parents from 1937 to just a few years ago when they both left this world.
Happiness is thinking fondly of my parents in new ways, looking at them from the perceptions of others in ways I wasn't open to. It's like discovering and loving them with a door open into their lives which I never passed through. It's a treasure I never knew existed.
Happiness is seeing my adult children being successful in ways I could never foresee, learning to like them for who they are now. Yes, I would happily include them in my circle of friends if they were strangers, I recently met them and got acquainted.
Happiness is seeing the most incredible thing come true, that I never thought could possibly take place in my lifetime. I have grandchildren, some who are adults and have found their place in the world. Some who are still getting their education and well focused on their goals for their future place in the world.
Happiness is a miracle that never even occurred to me would happen. Not only do I have children and grandchildren, I have great grandchildren. They are all beautiful souls who have come into live to make our hearts break with loving them. They are the future to carry us forward. How long I will live to see where they go? I don't know. It gives me happiness just to know how they grow, how their personalities are developing, and yes, even their grumpiness, when it manifests.
Happiness is embracing the suffering and survival of my past, and welcoming the knowledge and compassion which it has brought me. It turned me unto a path I never would have taken. Happiness is knowing that I actually have strength and courage I didn't think. I can be thankful, in some ways, for the torment I endured.
Happiness is having a day without pain, a day I can walk naturally, a day where I feel emotionally as close to what one might consider "normal".
Happiness is realizing I have a smile on my face just from looking at LOL cheezburger cats, or experiencing something on YouTube I never would have consider worth watching until that moment, thanks to friends and family for sending me the links.
Happiness is going through sixty years of old photographs, having my Grandparents histories, wondering about old timey things about which I haven't a clue.
Happiness is knowing who my ancestors were, learning about their culture, geography and history of where they lived. Knowing where I came from made me feel connected to the past for many generations. It made me feel more than I am, more than one person, alone on this planet, more than just one set of DNA.
Happiness is having a digital camera so I can take as many pictures as I want without having to worry about the cost of having them printed, deleting all the unacceptable ones, and finding that one perfect picture I didn't realize I had managed to catch with my camera. Those are the kinds of pictures I want printed and framed.
Happiness is being aware I've got a smile on my face that was not there before, a smile I have when I'm by myself and not triggered by someone else, a smile that is my very own. Those smiles are so important to me, especially because of a lifetime of not smiling, of living with depression. Smiles are like little dancing sparkles bursting from my heart and warming me inside and out, even if they only last a minute.
Happiness is my 20 year old cat looking eye to eye with me while the universe and we became one during her last moments. Naturally, there was grief and sadness involved, but that experience is etched in my soul forever in a kind of deep "knowing" that truly is indescribable.
I think I would be bored if I was happy all the time. I would have nothing to compare it to, nothing to make me cherish it all the more because it is so rare and precious.
~~~
Present in the group photo above are: from left to right starting at the top row; Clint Mountain, David J. Deane, Bill Reuter Sr., James Deane, xxxxxx?, xxxxxx?
Bottom Row, Clint's son or nephew, Suzan Deane, Bill Reuter Jr., Genevieve Borden Deane, Roger Deane, and last but not least our dog, Tammy
~~~
The picture of the young man on a Youtube page is my adult son, Xavier who works in the video game industry.
~~~
From the old time picture from 1911 My Grandmother's sister, Anna Evans in Thompson car in front of Ned O. Tarbox's store. Cattaraugus County, New York
~~~
The picture of the calico cat is Keli as described above
I just got an email informing me Writer's Digest has announced it's now time for their annual writing competition. I'm signed up for their free email membership. This is legitimate.
Grand prize is $3,000 and a trip to New York for 3 days and 2 nights.
The announcement says:
"While you’re there, a Writer’s Digest editor will escort you to share your work with four editors or agents."
Now, I don't know if that means you get to show them what you wrote that won you the contest, but, I sure hope it means that you can share with them other writings you've created. Wouldn't that be cool?
They have ten categories in which you may enter:
1. Inspirational Writing (Spiritual/Religious)
2. Memoirs/Personal Essay
3. Magazine Feature Article
4. Genre Short Story (Mystery, Romance, etc.)
5. Mainstream/Literary Short Story
6. Rhyming Poetry
7. Non-Rhyming Poetry
8. Stage Play
9. Television/Movie Script
10. Children's/Young Adult Fiction
Here's the link for further information.
http://writersdigest.com/annual
When you click on the link, a box will come up asking you to sign up for Writer's Digest magazine subscription. Don't let it deter you. If you're not interested, just close it out with the almost invisible x in the upper right corner of the box. Otherwise, sign up and enjoy. (May I have your old copies?)
You might find it advantageous to sign up for the free emails, as I did.
Even if you are not ready to submit something you have written, read through it all to get an idea of how things work. This will save a lot of stress in the future when you have finished something you might want to enter somewhere and find you have only a day to do it. You must read through and methodically follow instructions, otherwise your perfectly wonderful and publishable manuscript might be scrapped, because you didn't dot an i, or cross a T, or specify that this is a memoir and not a magazine article, for example.
Here's an something that caught my eye from their site where I can think things might get confusing and throw things off if one does not read all the fine print.
"Q: Are pen names allowed?
Pen names are fine. Write your pen name on all forms etc. so there is no mistakes on credits. Please be advised that we only need your real name if you are chosen as a winner (in order to issue prizes)."
Please note: I thought it was interesting that they used "is no mistakes" instead of "are no mistakes". If this is any indication of editing skills....
Also, before you go buying any of the books they offer for sale, check with Amazon or half.com, for better prices. If you don't mind purchasing a used book instead of new, sometimes you can get them for a penny plus postage. One other site I just love for obtaining books for next to nothing is
http://www.paperbackswap.com/
If you sign up for paperbackswap, you can reference me by name as the person who referred you. I would appreciate that very much, as then I would earn a point.
If you have something to add to this, please comment.
I came across this article written by Dan Chiras of the Evergreen Institute discussing a way to help yourself decrease your heating and cooling bills and make your home more energy efficient.
He says: "the most important thing you should do is to seal up the building. Most existing homes are like Swiss cheese. If you could add up all the tiny leaks in the building envelope – the walls, foundation, and roof – they’d be equivalent to a 3-foot wide by 3-foot high window left open 24 hours a day, 365 days a year.
I think that is an amazing statement and yet, I am completely aware of how this can be true. One day an energy consultant came to my house and put small pieces of insulation material in all the plugs and light switches. This service was provided either by the state or the electric company, I don't remember which. I'm sure it helped in a small way because he missed one and I can still feel the breeze coming through that one. Got to get out there myself and seal it off because it goes right out to the outside wall of the house where cable was once connected.
But what Dan recommends makes a lot more lasting improvement in my mind. He says sealing the spaces in our homes that have leaks to the outdoors "could easily cut your annual heating and cooling costs by 10 to 30 percent, perhaps more. It all depends on how leaky your home is."
He recommends ways to discover the air leaks in your home, either by hiring a professional or doing it yourself. I am aware that one way to do it is by having an infrared photo taken of your home.
Usually the areas that need sealing are around the edges of windows and where the floors and walls. I just recently discovered where the air space came through the house completely along the baseboards in the kitchen, and I'm now guessing in the rest of the house. My kitchen floor tiles were just replaced and when the baseboard was removed I could literally see light coming in from outside. I often have an influx of ants that come through that way. Now I know why it's been so easy for them.
Dan recommends that clear or paintable silicone caulking to be used in those open places. And don't forget to check doors and put weather stripping on them.
Not all California homes are properly insulated or weather worthy, especially if they are older. This is the type of home I live in. It is also unfortunate that inadequate heating is also a problem.
A 6 foot gas heater built into the wall of the hallway is the main source of heat for the whole house, which throughout the winter, even here in California can waste a lot of energy with heat going up the flue! Also, by having a heater in the hallway, the hallway might get up to 80 degrees (26 degrees celsius) before the bedroom would get up to a comfortable 65 degrees.
I recall when living in snow country we often heated our homes to warmer temperatures. But, I'm fairly sure that is not the case today.
It is not unknown to have freezing temperatures where I live. I have a lemon tree in my front yard and there have been times when the lemons have been ruined because of it. One winter we had two full weeks of freezing temperatures, for example. Again with inadequate insulation (none in the walls) this can make it quite uncomfortable inside the house.
Nonetheless, I have decided this year to decrease my use of gas for home heating. I have had the pilot light to my heater turned off, so that I will not be tempted to use it. Plus, I will not have to pay for running a pilot light, which according to a friend, saved him 8 dollars a month, once he turned it off.
Having been raised in snow country, my logic is that I can live with the cold. Now that I am older, I can use some of the methods learned in childhood to keep myself warmer. Layer my clothing for example. And, when it is particularly cold in the house, I can stay in one room. By my presence alone, my body heat can make a degree or so difference from the rest of the house. Keeping my insulated, floor length curtains, closed as soon as the sun goes down helps to keep some heat inside as well. If I am watching television or using my laptop, I am aware that some heat will be produced by them. I don't think as much heat emanates from my energy saver curly light bulbs as incandescent bulbs would have provided. But, it's a trade off on energy costs, not only for the little bit I can do for the environment, but also for my utility bill.
One thing I have noticed is that when my bedroom is beneath 58 degrees, I begin to be uncomfortable. It doesn't help that I have arthritis. If I am sleeping, it doesn't matter much. Up until recently, I just piled on the blankets. It makes a big difference, also if one uses flannel bedsheets.
I have recently made two concessions for myself. I occasionally will use an electric heater in the daytime to bring the temperature in my room up to a toasty 62 degrees. Also, I bought an "energy saver" electric blanket to use at night, and have been quite comfortable even when the temperature in my room drops to 47 degrees, which it has done occasionally this winter. I haven't yet recieved my utility bill for the month of January, so I do not know if this has all been a sensible idea. Will my use of the electric heater be a detriment?
My utility bill is combined, gas with electricity. Gas usage is always less expensive than electricity. But, I am hoping that by not wasting gas, my bill will be considerably less. We shall see.
With my utility company, I can go online and compare my usage to last year, so I am looking forward to seeing if it will make a difference.
Since I live in coastal California, the devastating cold weather that others in the country (in the world) experience through the winter is not such a major factor in my life.
Yet, having grown up in Niagara Falls, New York, I haven't forgotten Lake Effect snow storms, or 15 foot snow drifts or ice so thick it can cut a huge tree in half, and fall on your car. (Yes, that happened once.) I haven't forgotten sub-zero temperatures with a wind chill factor of 30 below. That would be -35 centigrade.
When I attended Elementary School, I walked a half mile to school, even in the wintertime. They didn't use school buses except for field trips. It would have been a good idea for me to wear what my mother called a snow suit, which was a thick jacket with leggings. I found them bulky and after about age 7, only the dorky kids wore them.
Sometimes, if I was sensible, I would wear flannel lined cordorory pants and boots (galoshes). But, by age 10 that was the time to stop wearing them. So, I hurried that half mile with bare legs. Girls didn't wear pants or tights to school. It was only when I was 13 that it began to become popular to wear your brother's jeans, but never to school.
I look back on those times with awe at the little girl who got through those winters. Sometimes the weather might be cold when I left for school in the morning, then be much colder and maybe snowing when returning home. If people didn't shovel off their sidewalks, I often walked in the street to avoid having the snow make my feet colder.
Occasionally, a friend's mother would offer a ride home. Both my parent's worked. Things were different then. I was a pretty independent kid by circumstance. I think most children today have much more protected lives.
You might have heard jokes about Grandpa saying, "When I was a boy, I walked 9 miles to school all winter long!"
Funny! One day, in the summertime I actually did walk 9 miles to my school just for the fun of it, with friends, and got a ride home from Dad. By this time, I was a teenager and we no longer lived in the city and had moved to a rural location.
The nearest city was Lockport, New York, named because of the Locks which ships traveled through on the Erie Canal. Fortunately, by this time, I was able to ride the school bus throughout the school year, and therefore did not have to face quite the winter challenges I did when younger.
¾ lb Fresh asparagus 2 c Hot milk
¾ c Chopped onion 1/2 Tsp dill weed (to taste)
3 Tb Butter + salt 1 Tsp Salt
3 Tb All-purpose flour 1/2 Tsp White pepper
1 c Water or stock 2 Tb Tamari soy sauce
Break off and discard tough asparagus bottoms. Break off tips; set aside.
Coarsely chop stalks; cook in skillet with onion in butter, salting lightly.
After 8 to 10 minutes, when onions are clear, sprinkle with flour.
Continue to stir over lowest possible heat 5 to 8 minutes.
Slowly add water or stock, stirring constantly.
Cook 8 to 10 minutes stirring frequently, until thickened. Cool slightly.
In blender, puree sauce bit-by-bit with milk until thoroughly smooth.
Return puree to 1 ½ -quart pan- preferably a double boiler.
Add dill, salt, pepper and tamari. Heat gently but don't boil.
As it heats, cook asparagus tips in boiling water until tender, but still very green, about 2 minutes;
To bring things up to date with the liver issue... The pancreas and liver scans are clear. I was even surprised to learn that I don't even have signs of fatty liver! It is determined that I do not have biliary cirrhosis. Woo Hoo!
Of course, this still doesn't answer why my liver enzymes climbed. Though I was also happy to learn that the alkaline phosphatase is now down to 257. So, the next steps are:
Lake Tahoe
Ultrasound abdomen R/O stones, sludge in CBD (Feb 11)
Blood tests:
Hepatic function panel
GGT
Lipid panel (now that I'm off statins, we want to see how it's doing)
I've got to look up some of the following:
Anti-Smooth Muscle Antibodies
ANA
Anti-Liver Kidney
Quantitative IGG
Ceriloplasm, Ferritin
Possible planned ERCP depending on what the results are.
Dr. also mentioned if this is not easily diagnosed, then she may send me to a colleague who focuses only on liver. I cannot imagine what else it could be!!!
In the meantime, I am no longer taking non-essential medicines that are processed through the liver. I miss my estrogen! HOT FLASHES!!! Yuck! And I miss Tylenol. I always knew that it took the edge off my pain enough that I could bear it. But, now I know just how much pain I'm really dealing with, so I'm changing my lifestyle a bit. Seems best to not experience too much cold, so bundle up more. Use heating pad a lot. Massage areas I can reach. Use Lidoderm patches. God Bless the person who thought those up!!! They don't kill deep pain, like in my SI joints, but at least make it more tolerable. So far, I have been able to avoid taking Tramadol except for a few times, and only twice have had to take Dilaudid. I am too cautious, I am told about taking them. But, I'd rather not go around in a stupor. If I were bedridden, yes maybe. But, I'm still up, though having to use the walker more. Funny how pain seems to make the act of walking so much harder.
Time flies when you're having fun, they say. But snow flies when the wind blows and the temperatures drop below 32 degrees fahrenheit.
photo by Shmuel Thaler
Right now Santa Cruz is in a little bit of shock and not of the earthquake type. We are having freezing nights, and snow up in the Santa Cruz mountains and on highway 17.
It melts off during the day, though. This weather is expected to last a week. I can't say I'm disappointed.
From this vantage point atop the cliff overlooking the sea, I feast my eyes after having been incarcerated an eternity behind rain streaked windows.
I drink in the magnificent nurturing beauty before me.
Today the sea is so lovely and sweet and smooth.
No longer thrashing wildly. No longer hurling herself with abandon across the face of the cliff as she has been for... how many days and weeks now?
I can’t keep track.
One stormy moment thundered into the next until it didn’t seem to matter whether a day, an hour, or moment was counted.
The sea is quiet, lulling me.
Soft waves draw back and forth massaging wet sand. I feel as though I could reach out and touch the edge of the shimmer, pull it across me and let the gentle sheets rest on my shoulders.
I would huddle down beneath her and sleep like a mermaid.
My niece chose this song to play the first time I heard it.
Spend all your time waiting
for that second chance
for a break that would make it okay
there's always some reason
to feel not good enough
and it's hard at the end of the day
Her brother, my nephew, died,
and this was at his funeral.
Up to that point I was numb,
had no feelings one way or the other about anything.
Numb.
I guess that's what shock does to ya.
But, there I was listening to the words.
It was like they were the only thing existing for the time I heard it.
As they sunk into my being something tore open and I sobbed uncontrollably.
I need some distraction
oh beautiful release
memories seep from my veins
let me be empty
oh and weightless then maybe
I'll find some peace tonight
Well, I was at a memorial service after all.
But, this was horrible.
Not a mourner’s weeping at all,
but out and out sobbing.
You know?
It was the kind where the snorting comes through.
I grabbed up my coat and put it up against my face to hold it back.
I felt ashamed, didn't want to ruin the sacredness of the moments
After all, there were others here who had more reason to cry than me.
In the arms of the angel
fly away from here
from this dark cold hotel room
and the endlessness that you feel
you are pulled from the wreckage
of your silent reverie
you're in the arms of the angel
may you find some comfort here
My sister, Raj's mother.
My Niece, Raj's sister.
My ex-brother in law, Raj's father.
Rishi, Raj's little brother.
Raj's little sister with the beautiful name
I can't remember.
Not to mention a myriad of relatives
from both sides of the family,
some arriving from the other side of the world
And so many friends who loved him, too.
So tired of the straight line
and everywhere you turn
there's vultures and thieves at your back
the storm keeps on twisting
you keep on building the lies
that you make up for all that you lack
He died years ago,
but tonight the song is haunting me.
And here I am with that deep,
deep pain in my heart for Raj.
Well, maybe not for Raj.
He's beyond the troubles of his life.
He left them behind.
Maybe, I'm holding that deep,
deep pain he once carried.
I guess we all do
until we are free to move on.
I’m not saying
to escape before our time.
But, we have to carry it until then.
it don't make no difference
escaping one last time
it's easier to believe
in this sweet madness oh
this glorious sadness that brings me to my knees
His father was from India.
Raj chose to follow the same religion.
He was close to the Goddess, Lakshmi.
I have his picture of her still on my wall.
I can't get rid of it,
it's a little piece of Raj here with me.
Symbolic of course.
I don't think he continued in that way.
After he died, my sister cried with joy
we found a letter where he expressed his Christian feelings.
In the arms of the angel
fly away from here
from this dark cold hotel room
and the endlessness that you feel
So maybe he has moved on to his next life.
Or maybe an angel
took him to heaven to be with Jesus.
All I know is that his life was too short.
He had a heart that was sweet as candy.
Yet he had to hide it
behind a tough exterior.
From what I could tell,
it was not who he liked to be.
But, somehow he needed to have it.
you are pulled from the wreckage
of your silent reverie
you're in the arms of the angel
may you find some comfort here
You know how when someone dies,
and someone says,
"He will never be forgotten."?
It's true.
Though I do not think of him every moment,
I can't forget him.
you're in the arms of the angel
may you find some comfort here
Once, he told me that when he was very little,
he was afraid at night.
So, while he was lying in bed waiting to go to sleep,
he would imagine a blue light surrounding him,
protecting him from
the things that made him feel afraid.
He imagined the blue light
in the shape of a pyramid. He said he could imagine it so well
that he really felt like he was inside.
Then he felt he was safe, and warm
and could fall to sleep peacefully.
When he told me this
he was about eleven or twelve.
What an amazing gift for a child to have.
He used that technique for years.
I know how he died.
No one should be alone in the cold like that. But, I like to think
he was surrounded by his warm glowing pyramid,
Unafraid, safe and warm and at peace.
Deep within
lies a slimy,
pathetic Monster
writhing with pain.
We all know him
His own worst enemy, is he
only conscious of misery,
he cannot see beyond himself.
pain lingers about him,
like so many tangled wires
jumbled in static
giving off fumes
Pain is his cousin
who never goes away
only to be dealt with
in twisted anger
victimized, ostracized,
unreachable, untouchable
unworthy of redemption
he refuses to break through
his self-imposed barriers
believes he is helpless
against the invisible foe
Pain is unacceptable
not a legitimate entity
pain has planted
thorny swords of barbed wire,
prevented easy access
pain wrapped in self loathing
cannot move or grow
tears of self pity,
cover him like unshakable slime,
his fears convincing him
the pain will not desist.
self-flagellated
wounds ooze thickly
He tells himself
"it's all I am meant to be,
just pain"
A most despicable Beast,
unworthy and shamed,
is but one who needs
tender healing, love nonetheless.
Dear Beastie,
I come to you,
my hand outreached to comfort,
yet, you stab me with your lightning bolts,
unwilling as a cowering porcupine.
You can only unleash your pain yourself, I see.
Did you know I was once like you?
By soothing voice, I sing to you.
By soft-coated whispers,
I encourage you to breathe,
and unwind the chains
you have wrapped about yourself.
Hiding in the poppies
locked you further away,
brought increased harm and alarm
No remembrance of who you are.
And so, I calm my pain focused mind,
my aching heart, my stress-filled body
to accommodate your need for undivided attention,
your need for redemption of your false beliefs
to embrace what I once thought was the enemy
Without your spiky Armor,
you appear quite harmless.
With your oozing wounds placated,
your tears dried away,
you are quite a cuddly creature
and purr readily when petted
I was a youngster, practically. And I used to cry and moan and twist in pain in my hospital bed, saying "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus," and "Oh, My God"
Now mind you, I was pretty much out of my head not only with the pain, but the morphine they were shooting into me every four... or if they forgot, five or six hours, sometimes later. Some compassionate woman from down the hall, got herself out of bed to come find the one who was calling on God. She found me and proceeded to tell me how she would pray with me and for me. Praise the Lord, thank you Jesus...
Oh, my. I shut my mouth and smiled at her. There was no way I was going to get into a religious argument with her, no way I was going to go through a major guilt and conversion session, and soon she was gone. I was very bitter, and at that time was Atheist. Little did she know that I had been cussing, "taking the Lord's name in vain", otherwise I don't think she would have been so interested in praying with me. I guess I should have said "goddammit", as my Mother would have said if she was hurting.
Doctor MeanGuy had been in that day to tell me the tests showed my bladder was shreds and there was nothing they could do with it, except connect the ureters to my bowel. Of course that would mean a lifetime of E-coli infections and who-knows-what-all backing up into my kidneys.
I knew little medical terminology. But I sure as hell knew bad news when I heard it.
Since I had cancer and wasn’t expected to live anyway, I just thought I would take things into my own hands and get it over with. I was so despondent about what that doctor had said. I had had enough surgeries!!! I had had enough pain and suffering. I had enough of hospitals, doctors and nurses. Enough of living in fear.
Needless to say, the little old Italian woman, Mrs. Calabresi who was in the bed across from me, (four to a room was a luxury in those wards) watched all this with bright eyes. I loved that old woman. I don't know why anymore. Every morning the priest would come in to give her last rites, every afternoon her adult kids would traipse in to see if she had died yet, and quietly leave. Every evening she would attempt chat with us but mostly listened. I didn't know much about her diagnosis except that she had something terribly wrong with the arteries in her legs, ( I think) and she couldn't walk and was expected to make her exit quite soon.
So, that night when I decided to cut the intravenous line and the bladder catheter tubes (one came out of my abdomen) she figured it all out, got out of her bed, and walked over to me. I was so shocked to see this, you'd think Jesus walked on water! Anyhow, she lovingly stroked my forehead, I got tears in my eyes. Real tears not the tears of the frightened girl in pain. And she touched her heart, then my heart, speaking in her broken Itali-nglish. I understood quite a bit, anyhow, as I lived in Niagara Falls. Either you were Italian or Polish, I was neither but heard the languages all my life. Anyhow, she said things like, “you be better, God will help you.” That's the woman I could be honest with. “No, God wont help me, I don’t believe in God, I'm mad at God!”
She completely disarmed me by saying: “You no like God? Tha's okay! Madre di Dio si curerà . God's Mother make better!”
My mind went completely blank... a concept I couldn't conceive, God’s mother? Calabresi had me and she knew it.
"Okay Now? A pregare la Madonna You pray!" I just stared at her. "You pray! I pray!"
I couldn't say no. I would have done anything she asked me. She had a "green scapula" with her. (How it suddenly appeared threw me. Did she have it in her hand all along and I didn't notice. Why, of course!) She held it up for me to see the Blessed Virgin. She showed me the words encircling her picture. Then we said the words together.
"Again!"
We said it again. We repeated it quite a few times. Then she put it in my hands and curled my fingers around it telling me to pray all the time... well, three times a day, ten times over, or maybe it was the other way around. By this time I was hypnotized, and I can't even remember how fervently I did this. Though it really did calm me, and I felt prepared to go beyond, whatever that would be. I still was mad at God and still didn't believe in him. (Yes, yes, an oxymoron, I know, but had little logic back then. Hmmm maybe less now)
Soon the nurses were in there putting in a new IV and one catheter. They couldn't do anything about the one leaking into my abdomen. The doctor would have to repair the damage surgically.
So, that was why I was cutting things. I had scissors, but no razor, so this would take time. Damned nurses. If I had turned that light on needed assistance they never would have come in all night long. Just when you don't want them, they come along and bother you.
So, the next day, they had to take me into emergency surgery. After I woke up Dr. Neisen (the nice one, see? I remember his name after all these years) came in beaming. I was still kind of druggy from the anesthesia but so glad to see him. He said, "I don't know what happened, but your bladder is all in one piece. All we had to do was sew up the hole where your abdominal catheter was located."
Smiling nurses came in to see that I was comfy and all tucked in. When they pulled back the curtain, I could hardly wait to tell Mrs. Calabresi. But her bed was all made up tight as a drum. She and all her belongings were gone. Nobody had to tell me where she had gone.
The next day, I asked for the priest. He came in. I told him about the miracle, and that I wanted to become Catholic. After he asked a few questions he told me no. It was impossible. I was a married woman, on my way to a divorce and previously baptized and confirmed in a non-catholic church. I was pretty insulted. After all, it had been a Catholic miracle. He agreed it couldn’t have been anything less. But that wouldn't make any difference where my soul was concerned.
He left, and then I was REALLY pissed at god!
For a long time after that though, I went to the shrine of Our Lady of Fatima in Youngstown NY, and had some peaceful times. But, I never converted, even after the "rules" got loosened.
This is the tip of the iceberg of how I coped with the diagnosis and surgical challenges. Very badly, until Mrs. Calibresi stepped in. Then, very calmly, because, “Tha's Okay.” I could always talk to God's Mother.
